A Teacup Comes Together
by Lectehr
Summary: When Will Graham wakes up in a hospital room, scarred but alive, he truly comes to realize all that he's lost. An unexpected gift might just be his undoing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well I don't know about you but I'm not okay after the finale. So I thought I'd do a piece to help us cope. Unfortunately it turned out to be really painful. My bad.

All the same, enjoy it!

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When Will woke up he didn't know where he was.

The pillow under his head and the sheets he was curled under were comfortable, much more comfortable than what he had at home, and for a brief, confused moment he thought he was back at Hannibal's house, curled up in the older man's bed. Will was dazed enough to wonder where Hannibal was, as he was missing the tell tale warmth that went along with sharing a bed with another person, when he remembered what had happened in a flash of red.

Hannibal wasn't lying beside Will, and he never would again. Absentmindedly, Will's hand stuttered over his abdomen. His fingertips lightly traced the wound beneath the sheets, feeling the puckered, angry mark. The mark that Hannibal had left on him.

Will slowly opened his eyes, blinded momentarily by the brightness of the hospital's (because of course it had to be a hospital) fluorescent lights. Slowly he turned his head, feeling so stiff and sore that he wondered how long he'd been out.

He wondered a lot of things at that moment. Like if Abigail and Alana and Jack had survived. If Hannibal had been brought into custody. Most of all, Will wondered how crazy he was to still feel the way he did for Hannibal.

Will hated himself for the fact that words like 'artist' and 'lover' all came to his mind before words like 'monster' and 'cannibal'.

Because above all, Hannibal was a monster. But he'd been a monster that had loved Will. When he'd been gutted, nothing was clearer to Will that Hannibal's love for him had been true and obsessive. Maybe that was the only way Hannibal knew how to love since he'd become so accustomed shutting people out after the death of his sister.

Hannibal hadn't tried to kill them all because he wanted to, he did it because Will had hurt him. He had felt so betrayed, so hurt and scared and lost, that he'd acted out to assure his survival. To assure that Will would be left scarred in more ways than one. Will knew that, and he wanted to be mad, but he couldn't. He just felt hollow, as if Hannibal had taken the heart that Will had so freely given him. Because Will truly had given his heart to Hannibal Lecter.

People would ask Will what was wrong with him for loving the man that was 'Hannibal the Cannibal' (a phrase that Will would never ever use). People would tell him he was just as much of a monster as Hannibal Lecter. Will wanted to feel guilty about his feelings, knowing fully well what Hannibal was. But all he could feel was devastated that he was alone again, and that Hannibal was alone too.

Something was definitely wrong with Will, but that didn't change the fact that he had loved Hannibal all the same. And now the man was gone, and Will was alone with a scar on his stomach that reminded him of Hannibal every time he took a breath.

Will blinked quickly, not wanting to cry, forcing himself to get out of his own head and look at what was around him. Apparently someone had bothered to leave flowers for him, white and yellow and purple ones. He couldn't help but feel grateful that the color red wasn't among them. He'd been exposed to far too much red. Again, Will wondered how long he'd been unconscious when he noticed the amount of petals that had shriveled and fallen away.

There were only two envelopes there, both untouched, and one small parcel. Will reached out a shaking hand to grab a card. It was from Zeller and Price. It wasn't very personal, a simple 'get well' card that they'd written in, but it still made Will feel better that they'd even cared enough to bother.

Will wouldn't have expected anything at all, given the fact that Alana, Jack, and Abigail were all in pretty critical conditions themselves. _If they weren't already dead_, a dark part of his mind whispered, and Will forced himself to ignore it. When a nurse came in, he would ask, despite the fact that he desperately didn't want to know the answer.

He set the card from Price and Zeller back on the table, careful not to move to much, careful not to mess up the IV needles in his arms, just being _careful _in a way that made him feel like a broken teacup.

He vaguely wondered if Hannibal had broken Will just to see if he would come back together.

Shaking himself slightly, he fumbled for the other card that lay on top of the small box, having absolutely no idea who it could be from. The two obviously went together, as was evident by the black ribbon that tied the two together, but Will didn't know who had actually gone to the trouble to invest more than a card in him.

Every Christmas and every birthday, his father had always told him that opening cards first was the polite thing to do. Will undid the ribbon, grabbed the envelope and flipped it to see the back, distracted for a moment by the simple, red, wax seal, feeling a heaviness in his chest. He opened it slowly, vaguely aware of the fact that his heart was hammering in his chest. If there had been any doubts as to who the sender was before, there certainly weren't any after he'd seen the meticulous penmanship. Who else would use a wax seal? Who else would care enough to send him a letter? Who else would want to see how will had come back together?

A part of him was tempted to throw the letter away, burn it, throw it in an ocean, rip it apart until it was unrecognizable confetti and then surrender it to the wind. But how could he when Hannibal's heart was in that envelope?

Will hadn't realized that his breathing had quickened, and he forced himself to calm down before drawing his eyes to the brief note, to Hannibal's perfect handwriting.

_My Dearest Will,_

_It was never supposed to end like this. I wanted us to be together, I truly did. We could have been so extraordinary together. It was a shame that you let my love for you go to waste._

_Was your love a ruse, dear Will? All a part of your plan to catch me, to bring me down? Or were your words honest as you bled out on my kitchen floor?_

_Does that make me a fool for loving you still?_

_You were right, you know. You did change me. And I think I changed you, getting someone with your morals to love me. Will you call me a monster, Will? Or will you mourn my absence? _

_Oh, you remarkable boy. I do admire your courage._

_Perhaps a day will arrive when we can come together once more._

_-H_

Will could feel himself trembling all over, breathy little whimpers escaping him as though he were a wounded animal. The letter crumpled slightly as he shook, turning his eyes to the small parcel beside him, a final gift from Hannibal. Hannibal who still loved Will.

Tears obscuring his vision, Will forced himself to grab the small box, taking the lid off and removing the contents.

It was a small teacup, and also what broke the restraint that Will had managed to hold onto.

Before he knew what was happening, he was hunched over on his hospital bed, tears running down his face as he sobbed, the wound at his stomach burning with a pain that only made him think of the man who had inflicted it. Will couldn't think, and didn't want to think. He only wondered why he life had become what it was, why he had lost everything, why his happiness was so hard to come by.

Not that he deserved happiness for loving Hannibal, right?

Will suddenly wished that he had escaped with the psychiatrist. He'd had an opportunity to come clean and he'd let it get away from him. The only thing Will had at that moment was a staggering amount of loss. At least if he'd gone against his morals he would have Hannibal. He would have_love_.

Now he had nothing.

Hannibal had killed him in every way except stopping his heart, and the grief was so incredible that Will thought he was going to drown in it.

"Mr. Graham? Mr. Graham!"

Will was vaguely aware of the fact that a nurse had run in hearing the sounds of his cries, and that she was pulling something out of his hands.

The teacup. She was taking the teacup away, but for some reason, now it was in pieces. That was when Will became aware of the blood on his hands, the crimson liquid dripping onto his bedsheets and Hannibal's letter. He couldn't even bring himself to feel bad about it. He didn't want Hannibal's words, he didn't want the man's arms around him or his lips against Will's own.

Will only wished that he'd been cut a little bit deeper. Then maybe he wouldn't be alive to deal with the aftermath of loving Hannibal Lecter.

"P-Please..." Will gasped, not entirely sure who he was pleading with. Maybe he was just pleading for an end to his suffering. Maybe he was pleading for Hannibal to return for him. Or maybe he was just pleading for time to rewind so that he had never left Louisiana, and had stuck to fixing boat motors.

The nurse had called for assistance at some point, and Will was gently pushed back onto the bed, the shattered teacup and letter from Hannibal set aside. They didn't bother to look closely, because they didn't realize how significant it was. They never would, of course. No one would ever be able to comprehend how significant Hannibal was to Will, how paramount their relationship had been.

"It's okay, Mr. Graham," the nurse said, smiling as reassuringly as she could. "You're just fine."

Will didn't have the words to tell her how wrong she was.

He couldn't breathe. His chest was too tight. Maybe if he was lucky he would just suffocate right there.

Someone was bandaging his hands. Someone else was administering what had to be a light anesthesia, because why else would Will be falling asleep when every nerve in his body was screaming at him to get up and run away?

"I'm sorry," he choked out, relaxing against the bed very much against his will. "I'm sorry, H-Hannibal, I..."

_"Put your head back," Hannibal said. "Close your eyes. Wade into the quiet of the stream."_

Will allowed his eyes to close and he let himself go to his stream, blocking out the hospital lights and the beeping of machinery and the sounds of his own anguished, broken sobs. Will fled to the sanctuary of his stream just as he always did when things got too difficult.

The only difference was that this time Hannibal was there with him.

It would have to do until they were really together again. Because they would be, Will had no doubt about that. The teacup would come together again.

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**A/N: **Well I hope you liked that piece!

Also, I'm considering writing a second part to this, so please leave me a comment if that's something you'd like to see!


	2. Chapter 2

Will had escaped to Louisiana as soon as he was free of the hospital, wanting to leave his nightmares behind.

It had been fairly easy for him to sell his house. Even easier for him to leave the FBI. After surviving the Chesapeake Ripper, he had been left enough money to get the hell out of town. He'd had to give away his dogs, which hurt, but he made sure that they all made it into good homes.

Well, not all of them. Selfishly, Will decided that he was going to keep Winston. After all, he'd saved the mutt right before meeting Hannibal Lecter. It felt almost as though they had started the journey together, and Will didn't have the heart to separate himself from the animal that had kept going home during his incarceration in the hopes of finding his master there.

It was rather pathetic, the items that Will had decided he was going to keep. He kept necessary appliances, and enough clothes to last him before he could get a new wardrobe. Everything he had felt tainted.

He noted vaguely that the coat he had word to Hannibal's house that night was no where to be found, as the EMTs had not found it covering Alana where Will had left it.

He kept almost nothing. Nothing to remind him of Wolf Trap or Baltimore, nothing that he'd been given by Jack, or Alana, or Beverly. He only kept one thing from Hannibal, and that was the teacup, which still lay in its box. It was shattered, a white porcelain teacup with a black stripe around it, stained red with Will's blood.

He hadn't looked at it since gathering up the pieces of the teacup and hiding it away in the box Hannibal had delivered it in. It hurt too much to even think about the cup, a cup that had likely been held lovingly in Hannibal Lecter's hands before being sent to Will.

As soon as he was able, he and Winston had moved into a small apartment in New Orleans. It was a big city, but one that Will knew well from his time as a homicide detective. And at that moment, what Will needed was familiarity.

Will didn't know where he was going. He had no one to care about him, not really. He knew he wasn't going to be working with the police again. He wasn't prepared to lose himself to more killers when he had already lost everything to Hannibal Lecter.

He had new clothes, most of the things he bought nicer articles than he had preferred to wear in Wolf Trap, and he vaguely wondered if it was part of Hannibal's influence. It probably was, Will admitted to himself. Hannibal had shaped him more than he would ever admit, and that was a truly scary thought.

He was back to fixing boat motors on the docks in New Orleans. It wasn't exactly fulfilling, but it was relaxing, and it gave Will something to do. He knew boat motors just like he knew people, except motors were simple in their designs, and human beings never were.

Sleep was never enjoyable for Will. Granted, it never had been, but things only got worse when he dreamed of Hannibal Lecter. He dreamed that the man was kissing him one moment, then gutting him like a fish the next, a black, feathered stag beside him, dying right alone with Will as he bled out on Hannibal's kitchen floor. It became common for Winston to sleep in Will's bed with him, always there when Will woke up, tears running down his cheeks, the scar on his stomach burning him from the inside out.

Contact with other human beings was at the absolute bare minimum. If Will could help it, he wouldn't talk to anyone. And he knew that he really should if he wanted to get better, if he wanted to live out the remainder of his life with some sense of normalcy. But he knew that it would be useless. He could never have any sort of normalcy after Hannibal.

A part of Will wished that Hannibal had just cut into him a little bit deeper. Maybe then Will wouldn't have survived and he would have to hurt so badly. The scar on his stomach had mostly healed, but every breath he took, every glance in the mirror, every time the fabric of a shirt brushed over his stomach, he thought of the man who had delivered the scar. Which was exactly Hannibal's intention, Will was certain.

The box with the teacup was in clear view on a shelf in his sitting room, but it remained untouched and broken.

It was a hot summer day when the teacup came together again. After a few hours down at the docks, Will decided that he had to confront the demon that had been sitting in plain sight. He had come back to his apartment, Winston wagging his tail eagerly. Will gently pet him behind the ears, moving to pick up the box with surprisingly steady hands.

It didn't take him long for him to glue it back together again. Will had decided that he wasn't going to clean off the blood, and it showed clearly against the once pristine porcelain.

The teacup sat on top of the box in clear view. There was pain that went along with looking at it, but it was a dull sort of pain, and it made Will wonder if that meant he was finally taking his life back from Hannibal.

Of course, nothing could really last for Will, could it?

Winter in New Orleans was a short affair, and it never really got particularly cold, so while his work was slow, it was constant. After all, almost everyone had a boat, and none of them knew how to fix their boats when things went awry.

But on that night, there was a beautiful bite in the wind, and the lights of his city brought color into the faded winter. Will stood out on his balcony, a glass of whiskey in hand, a vague feeling of serenity that was shattered when he heard his front door open, and then close as someone stepped inside.

Will couldn't see the door from his vantage point, but he knew better than to write that off as paranoia. He carefully set his whiskey glass on the table beside him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to go for his gun. It was the same gun he'd shot Garrett Jacob Hobbs with, the same gun he'd pointed at Hannibal twice, the same gun he'd brought to the psychiatrist's home, only to let it go when he caught sight of the man, looking more beautiful than he had any right to be, considering he was covered in the blood of Will's friends. Will had kept the gun, and brought it down with him to Louisiana. Unfortunately, it was of no damn use considering it was in a drawer in the bedside table in his room.

Stepping into his apartment carefully, Will looked around for Winston, and then nearly collapsed where he was when he saw the dog.

Winston was unharmed, but he was also being petted by Hannibal Lecter himself.

He looked so beautiful, despite the fact that he had been on the run from the police ever since Will's hospitalization. He was more dressed down than Will had ever seen him, wearing jeans and a white, button-up shirt that had been rolled up to the elbows. His hair was loose, just like it had been when Will had last seen the man. Will remembered all the times he had wondered what Hannibal would look like wearing casual clothes, and wished he could have seen the outcome under different circumstances.

No one had known where Hannibal had gone, but apparently he'd decided to enter the busy city of New Orleans to find Will. Because this wasn't a coincidence. Nothing Hannibal ever did was coincidence. He planned everything meticulously.

Will didn't know if he was going to die. He didn't really care.

It was then that Hannibal Lecter looked up, and a smile graced the man's features. Will could feel how fast his heart was beating in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was scared to die, or just happy to finally be in Hannibal's presence again, just a few feet away.

"Will," he said, straightening up from where he was crouched by Winston, letting his eyes roam over the empath. "You're looking well."

It was a lie, they both knew it, but Will appreciated it nonetheless.

"What are you doing here?" He asked quietly, surprising himself by staring directly into Hannibal's eyes as he spoke. Eye contact had never been easy for him, except for when it came to Hannibal. Even then, after not seeing the man since he'd been gutted, eye contact came easily to him. That bothered Will, knowing that he could speak more easily to a cannibal than to the people who had risked and given their lives to catch him.

"I heard that you had survived, moved away to start a new life." Hannibal said, moving over to a bookshelf, his eyes lingering on the teacup. "I had to see you, Will."

"You left me bleeding on your floor," Will said, the anger in his voice evident. "You cut Abigail's throat right in front of me, a girl you had said we would protect. You took everything from me, and then you decided to come back to find me?"

Hannibal tore his gaze away from the teacup, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he looked at Will.

"You had betrayed me, Will. I did what I had to do to survive." Hannibal took a few steps closer to Will, and instead of backing away, Will straightened up, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "We could have gotten away, the three of us, but you-"

"_I would have found you!_" Will shouted, surprising even himself. Hannibal, who always controlled his features so diligently, looked confused and shocked for a moment before he quickly put up his mask.

"You were working with Jack to capture me," Hannibal said, but he was looking at Will differently, as if he were finally taking a look at the empath, and what he had become in Hannibal's absence. "You lied about Miss Lounds' death. You would have taken my freedom from me."

"I never wanted you caught, I wanted you to run! I warned you that they knew so that you would leave! I never..." Will trailed away, feeling tears sting at his eyes, refusing to cry. He could feel his anger burning in his chest, threatening to break out.

Hannibal carefully looked away, looking almost lost. It was a strange sight for Will, as Hannibal usually commanded every room he walked into, even if it wasn't in his home. This wasn't the same man who could throw a dinner party, and then tell jokes that no one would understand about the choice of meat for the evening. This was the man who had looked at Will in that kitchen, all that pain and loss and betrayal so close to the surface.

"You never what, Will?" He prompted, for once being the one who couldn't initiate eye contact.

Will dared to take a step closer, something he could see Hannibal notice. "I never wanted to have a life without you in it. The monotony that I escaped to here... It only proves that. You didn't kill me at your house, but you might as well have." A twisted sort of smile touched Will's face then, Hannibal looking up to meet his eyes. "I'm already dead inside."

Hannibal had gotten what he'd worked so hard for. Will was alone, and Hannibal was the only thing in his life. Of course, he hadn't had much before, but up until the point that Jack Crawford had asked him to consult on the Minnesota Shrike case, Will had been content. But with the encephalitis and the blood that seemed to follow him wherever he went, with the incarceration and isolation, Will had clung onto Hannibal because Hannibal understood. Hannibal knew how good it felt to kill, and Will was allowed to be more free around him.

"Will..." Hannibal began, the man who had such a way with words suddenly seeming at a loss for them in that moment.

"So what now?" Will asked, cutting him off, his arms crossed over his chest. "Have you come here to kill me? To break the teacup all over again? I saw you noticing that I fixed the one you sent me."

Hannibal glanced back at it, even though Will knew that he had to have memorized every detail of it by that point. He chose not to answer Will's question. "It was whole when I sent it to you. How did it break?"

"You sent it to me when I was in the hospital. I read your letter, and then I opened the box, and..." Will shrugged, holding his hands up, palms towards Hannibal. They were faint, but there were clearly scars there, little white lines from where Will had crushed the cup, and where the shards had opened up his skin.

The psychiatrist smiled faintly, as if pleased to know that he still had such a hold over Will. Only it was just as obvious that Will had just as much power over Hannibal.

"If you're going to kill me, please do it now. I just want to get it over with." Will said, deflating somewhat as the reality of what was happening sank in. He was going to die.

Hannibal only shook his head. "I haven't come here to kill you, Will. I came here to ask you to come away with me."

Will's arms fell to his sides, his lips parted slightly in surprise. Hannibal had gone to the trouble of locating Will, leaving whatever secure location he'd found while he was on the run. He'd risked his freedom to find the empath, _just so that he could ask Will to come away with him_.

"Why are you asking me?" Will murmured after a few moments, shaking his head slightly. "I hurt you so badly you decided to try and kill anyone who meant anything to you. Me, Jack, Abigail, Alana. You left us all to die because I betrayed you. And now you want me to come away with you?"

"I know it hasn't been easy for you," Hannibal said softly, his burgundy eyes meeting Will's blue ones. "But I haven't done well in your absence. I had thought, maybe... Maybe you would reconsider. Maybe you would come back with me. I gave you a few months to get acclimated to your new surroundings, to your life, but I had to ask."

Will laughed, but there was no warmth to the sound. "What happens if I say no? Do you gut me again, but actually do the damn job this time and kill me? Will you make me into an appetizer, or am I worthy enough to be a main course?"

"Will, I have no intention of killing you. The world is a much better place with you in it."

"Do you still love me?" Will asked quietly, feeling his hands begin to shake. Many people had said Hannibal didn't know how to feel anything, that he was a cold blooded sociopath with a god complex. In his letter, he'd said that he still loved Will, but a lot had changed in those months that they had been apart.

"With every fiber of my being." The man answered, closing the distance between them, but not touching Will. The empath noted the slightest of tremors running through Hannibal, causing his steady, surgeon's hands to tremble. "I never stopped, Will."

The last time they had been that close, Will had been clinging onto Hannibal, his insides slipping out onto the floor of the older man's kitchen. Strangely, Will didn't feel scared. He should have. How could he know that Hannibal didn't have a knife? Knowing the psychiatrist, it would be the same linoleum knife he had used before. Sentimentality and all that. But some part of Will knew that he wasn't going to die.

Despite everything that had happened to him, everything Hannibal had done, Will still loved him. Will was always happiest when he was in Hannibal's company. There were parts of Will that were broken, and he suspected that they would remain broken. But he wasn't looking for Hannibal to fix him like the empath had fixed the teacup. He was looking for Hannibal to be there for him, to love him. Hannibal had etched himself into every part of Will's anatomy, and it didn't feel right to go through the motions of life alone in New Orleans. What Will wanted, he realized, was to be free enough to go away with Hannibal and really _live_.

"Where would we go?" Will asked, and he could see the smile tugging at Hannibal's mouth.

"Anywhere," he murmured, his fingertips brushing against Will's wrist, tracing the scars from the teacup that had shattered in Will's hands months before. "Anywhere you wanted to go, I would follow you."

"How can you trust me?" Will asked quietly, gently lacing his fingers with Hannibal's without looking away.

Carefully, as if scared that Will might break if he moved to hastily, Hannibal let his free hand rest against Will's cheek, a faint smile crossing his features that made Will feel warm.

The kiss that Hannibal pressed to Will's lips was all the answer that he really needed.

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**A/N: **So after writing this I realized that I really need to write an epilogue. So at some point, I'm going to be posting one more chapter to wrap this fic up.


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